Joshua | Page 4

trap-door leading to this observatory on the top
of the highest gate of the temple was opened, and a priest of inferior
rank called: "Cease thy toil. Who cares to question the stars when the
light of life is departing from all the denizens of earth!"
The old man listened silently till the priest, in faltering accents, added
that the astrologer's wife had sent him, then he stammered:
"Hora? Has my son, too, been stricken?"
The messenger bent his head, and the two listeners wept bitterly, for the
astrologer had lost his first-born son and the youth a beloved father.
But as the lad, shivering with the chill of fever, sank ill and powerless
on the old man's breast, the latter hastily released himself from his
embrace and hurried to the trap-door. Though the priest had announced
himself to be the herald of death, a father's heart needs more than the
mere words of another ere resigning all hope of the life of his child.
Down the stone stairs, through the lofty halls and wide courts of the
temple he hurried, closely followed by the youth, though his trembling
limbs could scarcely support his fevered body. The blow that had fallen
upon his own little circle had made the old man forget the awful vision
which perchance menaced the whole universe with destruction; but his
grandson could not banish the sight and, when he had passed the fore-
court and was approaching the outermost pylons his imagination, under
the tension of anxiety and grief, made the shadows of the obelisks
appear to be dancing, while the two stone statues of King Rameses, on
the corner pillars of the lofty gate, beat time with the crook they held in
their hands.

Then the fever struck the youth to the ground. His face was distorted by
the convulsions which tossed his limbs to and fro, and the old man,
failing on his knees, strove to protect the beautiful head, covered with
clustering curls, from striking the stone flags, moaning under his breath
"Now fate has overtaken him too."
Then calming himself, he shouted again and again for help, but in vain.
At last, as he lowered his tones to seek comfort in prayer, he heard the
sound of voices in the avenue of sphinxes beyond the pylons, and fresh
hope animated his heart.
Who was coming at so late an hour?
Loud wails of grief blended with the songs of the priests, the clinking
and tinkling of the metal sistrums, shaken by the holy women in the
service of the god, and the measured tread of men praying as they
marched in the procession which was approaching the temple.
Faithful to the habits of a long life, the astrologer raised his eyes and,
after a glance at the double row of granite pillars, the colossal statues
and obelisks in the fore-court, fixed them on the starlit skies. Even
amid his grief a bitter smile hovered around his sunken lips; to- night
the gods themselves were deprived of the honors which were their due.
For on this, the first night after the new moon in the month of
Pharmuthi, the sanctuary in bygone years was always adorned with
flowers. As soon as the darkness of this moonless night passed away,
the high festival of the spring equinox and the harvest celebration
would begin.
A grand procession in honor of the great goddess Neith, of Rennut,
who bestows the blessings of the fields, and of Horus at whose sign the
seeds begin to germinate, passed, in accordance with the rules
prescribed by the Book of the Divine Birth of the Sun, through the city
to the river and harbor; but to-day the silence of death reigned
throughout the sanctuary, whose courts at this hour were usually
thronged with men, women, and children, bringing offerings to lay on
the very spot where death's finger had now touched his grandson's

heart.
A flood of light streamed into the vast space, hitherto but dimly
illumined by a few lamps. Could the throng be so frenzied as to
imagine that the joyous festival might be celebrated, spite of the
unspeakable horrors of the night.
Yet, the evening before, the council of priests had resolved that, on
account of the rage of the merciless pestilence, the temple should not be
adorned nor the procession be marshalled. In the afternoon many whose
houses had been visited by the plague had remained absent, and now
while he, the astrologer, had been watching the course of the stars, the
pest had made its way into this sanctuary, else why had it been forsaken
by the watchers and the other astrologers who had entered with him at
sunset, and whose duty it was to watch through the night?
He again turned with tender solicitude to